Finale  

Characters 

Lars Kaufman – Halfling 1 – plucky brother of another fallen hero, Tim Kaufman. 

Tordash – Fighter 1 – crossdressing warrior wielding a large pole arm. 

Deanna – Fighter 1 – The brave sister of Ralf Lionsword, out for revenge. 

Athilda – Magic-user 1 – a tall, slim, and bug eyed crone, fifty years of age (a medieval 50). 

---

The Party were back once again. The dark halls of the mountain castle looming heavy amongst bleak clouds. Onward bound! 

“Let us try something a little different today.”

“I’m all ears.”

“Why don’t we venture around the sea facing side of the castle, towards this garden we’ve heard so much about.” 

The party decided this was a great idea. They moved to the northern shore, and around the thick muddy moat, where they pondered how to best approach the climb around the castles seafront walls. They found a dead tree some forty feet off and collected some large branches, then tied these together with rope. It wasn’t a secure raft, but it would float. They threw this into the lakes waters and tugged it along the shore by a rope. 

The lakeside foundation for the ashlar walls was made of great large rubble boulders. These descended down into the waves, and were covered with thick green algae and seaweed. The journey would be a slippery one, and they would have to tread carefully. This they did, hugging the wall and tugging the little raft along the waters. The lake was still, the summers sun shone brightly, dancing across the waters. It took the party nearly an hour, and they were only half way around the outer wall, they’d traversed around the north west tower. Their legs were feeling fatigued from the careful climbing, and they decided to take a break. Unfortunately they all slipped and fell into the waters except Kaufman, who stood dumbfounded holding the raft’s rope. 

“Sod this, lets swim.” 

So they all held onto their buoyancy aid and kicked towards a parapet wall, above which they saw an ancient Norman style chapel in a garden. 

They climbed onto the stones below the parapet and loosed a grappling hook. Deanna climbed up first, followed by Lars. 

The garden was choked with dense thicket and angry looking thorn bushes. In the bush directly in front of Deanna there was a patch of the thicket that was dead and blackened, a small piece of metal seemed to be pointing upwards from it. Lars climbed up behind her.

Paranoid, Lars loosed an arrow at the shape in the dead brush, and heard a metallic ting as his arrow hit something. This was out interesting. Athilda and Thodash climbed up the rope next. Then, in the bush, a guttural snarling was heard, then a clucking sound. 

“Get behind me!” Deanna whispered, and the party coiled behind the heavily armoured warrioress. They started to back off, but from the shrubbery a large three taloned claw came scratching out. 

The party started to quietly move south. Following after the strange claw came a giant goat head, with huge curled horns that gave off some sort of crumbling dust. The creature emerged more fully then, it was part bird, part goat, standing a huge five foot tall on all fours. It peered at them with yellow avian eyes and made a terrible sound. Lars launched a food ration at it, and within a second the creature was gobbling up the food. 

The party made away, careful not to use sharp movements, the chapel entrance was in sight! But emerging from another overgrown thicket was another of these strange beasts, this one appeared more aggressive, hopping up on its hind legs. Another ration was loosed and the party made towards the door. This ration was gobbled up equally quickly. As they reached the simple banded door of the chapel, they threw another ration back, between the two creatures, hoping that it would cause them to fight. Unfortunately one of the beasts was clearly more dominant and it snatched up the food without issue. 

The party opened the door and saw a very fine chapel. Hung on the walls were brightly coloured round shields with all manner of heraldry. Below those were frescoes of comely maidens carrying gifts towards the central altar. The altar held some sort of cloth and a cross. 

Next to the door was a large font, filled with holy water that dripped from a copper lambs head tap. This tap had two giant rubies for eyes! 

“This is a holy place, don’t touch those eyes.” Deanna said to her more chaotic inclined companions. 

On the right there was a great staircase and a vestibule that held some sort of stick. 

After filling up their waterskins with holy water the party moved to check out the altar, Thodash checked out the vestibule.

The altar cloth was simple, white, and was stained with the figure of a bearded man, arms crossed in repose. Could it be? Deana took a knee and touched the cloth to her head. She felt an overwhelming sense of holiness, and all her aches and pains from the climbing and falling melted away. The serene bearded face resembled the lord of law as he was depicted in some art works. She carefully folded up and took the relic. 

“It shouldn’t be left in this evil place.” 

Meanwhile in the vestibule Thodash found some sort of wand, the head of a goat carved on its tip. He waved it around a little, proclaiming himself lord of the goats, but eventually he handed it over to the parties only magic-user, Athilda. Next the party took to using their ten foot pole to poke one of the finely decorated shields from the wall. It clattered with a loud bang. 

Up in the rafters the party heard the groaning of floorboards, and dust poured down through the cracks in the ceiling. Someone was upstairs. The party moved to the door whilst Kaufman carefully went up the stairs without a light source, just to check it out. At the top of the stair he could see nothing, it was pitch-black, but he smelt sulphur. Nope, he went back down. 

Then the party heard a great electrical zap upstairs. Athilda considered that the zap and sulphur could relate to some sort of planar or dimensional magic. 

They opened the door back into the garden, Deanna held up the cross. One of the goat creatures launched an attack at her, but was repelled by a bright light within the doors frame. 

Kaufman grinned. “We are safe, maybe the lord of law wants us to liberate those rubies as well as the shroud.” The party agreed, except Deanna. The halfling popped out the fist sized rubies. The water that was pouring from the lambs mouth was now dribbling from its empty eye sockets. Kaufman turned and his friends gasped, except Deanna of course. Lars now had a great T carved into his forehead. Then there came a gust of wind, the door opened, and Lars was pushed from the building by some sort of magical force. 

“Help!” He called, but his friends could do nothing. He was thrust outside into the garden, and the two giant goat-bird-things aimed to ram him. He fled towards the parapet, the creatures hot on his tail. The party slipped out afterwards, going quietly around the thickets. Lars reached he wall and climbed over the railing, but a goat caught up to him and rammed. The horn struck his shoulder and instantly strange grey power erupted from his arm, and his arm was frozen in pain. He went down the rope. On the other side of the wall the rest of the party climbed down, Athilda taking a slight tumble however. 

The goat looking after Lars, jumped up onto the wallcand leapt down to where he was on the shore. Lars leapt into the lake and swam to the little raft, Athilda used the wand on the creature and it bowed towards her. The party led the now controlled goat, tied their rope to its neck, and let it pull their raft back to the western shore. Then they tied it up to a tree and fled back to town. 

---

O Death! Thou hast failed this time! 

And that concludes my Xyntillan Campaign. Thanks to all my players, I hope you had a blast.

What happens to the surviving PCs? I asked the players to write their endings:

Sindri – His personality will be consumed by the Blade of Rel, and slowly become a completely different person. He’ll eventually find the templar in Castle Xyntilan and duel to the death.

Mirella – Mirella continued growing her farm and cultivate the herbs and ingredients for her witchcraft. Years later, she becomes THE local witch.

Lars & Deanna – Lars asks Daenna too join him at the Tours en savoy graveyard, Lars Brings a shovel to the place Sindri showed him before he lost his mind too that dreadful sword. He digs 6 feet deep and finds a beautifully carved child sized coffin by human standards. “Pass me the crowbar Daenna please”. He prises open the casket to Reveal the corpse of his Brother. The decomposing has already started and the smell of death turns his stomach. Yet another trauma granted by those four Malevols. “Daenna please.. will you lay the holy cloth upon my departed brother and do the ritual too bring him back too me? I miss him dearly, and perhaps If he lives again I can lay down my thoughts of vengeance and leave this dreadful town.”

Deanna says, ”I will try, but it is not up to me if your wish will be granted or not. God might show mercy to the pagan soul of your brother but He also might not. But I will pray for him, because I know very well how it feels to lose a brother to the Evil that lurks in the Castle. There is something however that I will ask you before I kneel to pray for the mercy to your brother: If mercy is shown, in the future be reverent towards sacred places and relics of the Law. As you have already found out, the power of the Law is real and its Eye will notice any offence” and then Deanna covers the corpse of the halfling with the Shroud and kneels to pray resting her forehead on the the hilt of her sword.

Lars nods in agreement to Daennas request. “Yes, greed has long been the downfall of the Kaupfman family. May we be forgiven” He watches in awe as Daenna continues the ritual.

After a very long silent prayer, Deanna stands and carefully collects the Shroud. Her expression is solemn but her eyes are wet and she has to fight the inner voices reminding her, that she was unable to do the same for her brother. She then steps back a few feet and waits. 

After a few moments of quiet, the body of the small halfling remains still. Maybe it didn’t work? Suddenly a breath moves the shroud, then the figure sits up. The shroud falls from his face and his rotting corpse has been replaced with the fresh face of life. He lives again.

“Enjoy life and brotherly love, Lars, but do not forget what you have learned. Everything I guess went according to His plans. As for the rest of us, we will have to live what we have accomplished and what we failed to” The days spend as Keeper of the Shroud have changed Deanna. She never smiles now and she walks slowly her mind always absent. Her slow steps would eventually lead her to the East. After all the money she earned from her brief adventuring would suffice for the trip. The Shroud would be her ticket to join the mighty Holy Order of Knights of the Law despite her gender, her new suit of armour specially designed to hide that difference. She would serve Law for the rest of her knightly life. And perhaps we might meet again her somewhere else!

Lars grabs his brother in a warm embrace. “Baby brother you live!”. Lars sheds tears of joy. It takes a few minutes for Tim to come to, and regain his faculties. After Daenna has left, leaving the brothers to their family reunion. Suddenly Lars groans, he is still embracing his brother tightly. 

“Fuck you Lars. think you can sleep with my wife and take my hard earned money? No, you imbecile. Treason like this means one gets shanked”. Tim stands up, as he let’s go of his brothers embrace. His brother groans as he lies crumpled in the coffin clutching his ribs gasping for air. Tim throws the lid over the casket and climbs out of the grave. Lars, still groaning tries to kick the lid away but can’t muster the strength to do so, he can’t even mobilise too scream for help. Standing on the edge of the grave, Tim grabs the shovel and starts filling the grave. Lars can only lie in terror as the sand and earth slowly blocks out the sun and the sounds of the chirping birds, leaving him in a silent darkness to bleed out. Tim grabs his handkerchief out of his pocket and wipes the sweat of his forehead


He says to himself. “All this manual labour has made me thirsty. I need a Brandy.”

Athilda – Athilda used the money she gained from her expeditions in Xyntillan to learn a new spell. The one she always wanted to learn but male haughty magicians would never show to one of her kind: Charm. A generous amount of gold coins however made one of them reconsider. Armed with such sorcery she went to Paris and met one of the handsomest men in the court. He immediately asked her to marry him and under her guidance, the same man whom everyone described as only blessed with looks yet not with wits, kept advancing within the hierarchy. The fact that his wife Athilda was not just considered one of the best dressed women in France but also an expert in arranging marriages by her enchanting manners and schemes might have helped in that regard.

Tordash – Tordash, not able to find his recent employer Lars Kaufman, gets paranoid. Last time he saw Lars he had been recognised as a thief and was denied service in the local shops. Everyone in town knew Tordash was in his employ. The down side too being fashionable is that everyone notice you all the time. It’s probably only a matter of time before they realise Tordash was a part of the gang that tried to heist the Malvols. “Better leave while I have the chance”. Tordash spends his gold on a horse, and rides east. He will ride until the Latin languages are far behind him, and seek the lands where silk is in abundance, and start a tailoring business. But years later he still wakes up in sweat with nightmares about Sarges head being popped like a grape in the mouth of that obese monstrosity. “I should’ve never went to France “.

FIN 

Chaos Bound

Characters 

Sindri – Elf 2 – A chaotic elf of broody disposition 

Sarge – Fighter 1 – A tall stoic professional warrior. 

Athilda – Magic-user 1 – a tall, slim, and bug eyed crone, fifty years of age (a medieval 50). 

Deanna – Fighter 1 – The brave sister of Ralf Lionsword, out for revenge. 

Thodash – Fighter 1 – crossdressing warrior armed with a club. 

Lars Kauffman – Halfling 1 – plucky brother of another fallen hero, Tim Kaufman. 

---

“Whatever you do, when I call out retreat, you get away as fast as possible.” Sindri laid out the plan, they were going for another expedition, and not many more would follow. They had exhausted the towns willing mercenaries. All men-at-arms who heard the name Xyntillan now shook like the last green leaf upon a winters branch. The party could find no henchmen at all. They were going it alone. 

So off they went, up the valley, and marched up to the tall broody walls of the castle. All was quiet, except for the occasional call of a crow. 

The party decided to go through the gargoyle framed doors of the grand entrance. When they pulled open the doors a familiar face greeted them. The ghost of Medard Malevol the Mighty. The ghost hailed them, and told them he had left them a gift, resting by his bust on the floor above. 

The party quickly went though the eastern portal of the large entrance hall and into a room they had looted many weeks ago. Inside, upon a dirty table, was a small wax figure. On closer inspection they noticed it was carved in the likeness of Sindri, and behind the figure was a cushion, stuck with many pins. 

“Foul voodoo is afoot” The party took the wax figure, carefully bundling it up, and also the pins. 

Up the staircase they went, lantern glow leading the way. 

They came to a broken door, and through it could just about make out the white head of the Medard bust.  In the shadows something else lingered. In the crack in the door a leering face swept into view. The monster attacked, opening the door and revealing another two allies behind it. These were strange skeletal figures, with dried out leathery flesh hanging from their bones. They made a terrible wheezing sound and lashed out at Deanna and Thodash with their claws. 

Arrows flew up, flaming oil crashed against the wall, Deanna and Thodash smote one of the creatures but another took its place and slashed Thodash’s chest. The dress wearing warrior quickly switched places with Sarge. Sarge and Deanna the warrioress made light work of the creature, hacking it into pieces.

The final monster placed its hands upon its hollow cheeks, gave a shrill yell and fled into the darkness. The party tried to follow, but they moved carefully, refusing to run, and loosed arrows. The creature got away into the darkness of the library. 

“Don’t worry about him, let’s get our present from the templar.” As promised they found a neat scroll upon the busts plinth, sealed with red wax. As Lars Kaufman approached he noticed that the bust’s facial features changed into a horrible grimace, its glinting eye stared into his soul. Overcome with panic the halfling fled, but not so quickly that his friends couldn’t tackle him to the ground. 

Sindri approached the bust next, and though he noticed the same strange change in the statue he managed to overcome his rising dread. He snatched the scroll. The party went back downstairs and calmed down poor Lars, who was suffering terrible tremors. The rest of the party read the scroll, which appeared to be cryptic hints at some treasure hidden in the castle. 

“A Treasure map!” 

“Well, lets get hunting.”

Off the party went, but as they reached the portal into the grand entrance hall, they heard bizarre sounds beyond the door. Sniffing, baying, the clacking of hoofs and … maybe a cockerels cry. The party waited and the sound soon moved away. Peering through the door they saw large piles of manure dotted around, and tracks with hoofs and three taloned claws. The manure was powdery, like chalk, and smelt of stone. 

Avoiding the tracks, which led to the north, they decided on trying an, as yet, undiscovered room. They went in, and sitting in the corner was a headless corpse. From the ceiling a lantern hung on a chain and swung around and around in a circular fashion. As the party walked through the room they noticed their chainmail, belt buckles and weapons of steel were bringing to follow the pattern of the lantern. 

“Quick! Follow me” Sindri bellowed and they dashed East into another room. This one had a large table, and huge wardrobe, there was an archway leading through into some sort of trophy room. The trophy room was lined with swords, and above a fine well stocked bar, mounted on the wall, was a black great sword with dark runes down the blade. A brass sign below the sword read ‘the Blade of Rel.’ 

Before the party went into the trophy room they decided to open the wardrobe, and dozens of skulls fell out, one of which has a swanky pair of gold sunglasses. Kaufman snatched those up. Hark! Someone at the door. The door handle rattled and the creaking floorboards betrayed someones presence. 

The party snatched up the skulls and dashed into the wardrobe, all but Sarge, who was about to step in when the door clicked inward. Sarge closed the wardrobe and turned, five skulls in his arms. In the doorway was a colossally fat man, his yellowing flesh rotting and dripping from his form. His bleak white eyes peered into the warrior, who began slowly retreating towards the trophy room. 

“I see you’ve found my collection of skulls, naughty boy. Do you have any food? I’m terribly famished.” 

Sarge made his way through the arch and noticed his feet had activated some kind of plate, a mechanical whirring spun in the walls around him. The fat monster began laughing at him. Sarge leapt into the trophy room, and grabbed the blade of Rel from its mounting. The monster was laughing terribly now. Sarge turned to face the beast, which was squeezing itself through the door frame. Sarge heard metal sounds all around him, and turning his head, he saw that every single sword from the walls were floating, tips pointed at him. He didn’t have a moment to react, as the blades flew into him and skewered him like a kebab. 

Inside the wardrobe the party had been listening. They heard the heavy footsteps of the monster, then dragging, then a wet sound of meat hitting wood. Then the metal clanking of the swords being removed. Sindri opened the door a crack and snuck out. The fat zombie was preparing his meal on the table, his back to the elf. Sindri made away through the southern door. Lars was next to try and escape, but the creaking floorboards underfoot made the zombie pause. The halfling darted under the table. The Zombie continued its procedure of sucking on the corpses head like a lollipop.

The rest of the party decided not to creep out, but Athilda waved her hands and said some magic words, a floating disc materialised, slamming open the wardrobe doors. Thodash and Deanna leapt onto it. The fat zombie turned around with his mouth full of sarges head, stunned. A clean skull fell out of his mouth onto the floor and almost rolled into Lars beneath the table. 

Athilda has the initiative however, and ran as fast as her witchy legs could carry her, her disc of floating comrades trailing behind her. The monster began following, but had to try and squeeze through the door. 

In the chaos Lars crept from under the table into the trophy room, he filled up his bag will all the fine wines and brandy from the drinking cabinet, and then wrapped his coat around the blade of Rel, making sure not to touch it. Then he was out through the room with the swinging lantern, but as he opened the door the fat monster was there coming towards him! Quickly the halting ran backwards and evaded the beast. He got outside where he reunited with his friends. 

On their travel back to town, Sindri took the blade of Rel, being able to read the dark chaotic runes upon the blade. But as he touched it his body spasmed, then he turned to his friends and spoke with a much deeper and sinistral voice. 

“Come comrades, let us find heroes of Law, and let us sunder them.” 

What will they do next?

Double feature.

Expedition Thirteen.  

Characters 

Clyde – Cleric 2 – once a thin waif, now a decked out paladin with templar robe, bishops magic crook, and a strong sense of purpose. 

Exeo – Magic-user 1 – self proclaimed master of flames. 

Sindri – Elf 1 – a dark cutthroat. 

Percy – Thief 1 – a scrawny little kid who’s never taken a shower in his life. 

Walbach & Farbig – men at arms. 

Bunduc – a wardog. 

---

After their rather disastrous last expedition the party chose to take a different entrance into the castle. Clyde had managed to escape the halls of terror by banging into a throne down in the dungeon, then accidentally hitting a switch that sent it mechanically upward into a great hall. He didn’t get to map this area due to his panicked fleeing, but he knew he wanted to return there. 

The others agreed, and so they marched into the courtyard from the Western gate. 

They crept around the bracken and the vegetable patch, fearful of being spotted. But when they arrived at the great second gate they found the double doors swollen shut. Next to the doors were two sleeping sentries in their guard posts. The party didn’t want to wake them, so they decided to retreat and try to enter the castle from the tall rose garden that hung on a balcony in the north. 

On their way there they spent some time observing the pond area. In the centre of the pond was an island with a pavilion and a stone slab. To the east of this was another greco style pavilion with a statue of a maiden. Sindri and Exeo waded through the water dragging their war hound with them, and began combing the area. They found a grave belonging to Tristano Malévol The Love-Lost. The spent some time attempting to slide open the huge slab that bore his likeness.  

At the maiden statue the others were attempting to discover some kind of secret portal or switch. Twisting the statues arm this way, singing to it that way, and so on. All with no effect. 

Back at the grave site Exeo pushed the slab enough to see a withered skeletal arm inside the tomb. He made an executive decision to pour the contents of his holy water onto this arm. It erupted in plume of smoke, a wave of heinous screeching followed, and the huge slab, which the pair of adventurers had been struggling to move, went flying off the coffin. 

Sindri retreated at once, but brave Exeo donned his dagger and willed Walback and Bunduc the wardog into battle. The creature was a huge four armed skeleton, screeching with rage, and stood nearly seven foot tall whilst wielding four blades. It made light work of the henchman and dog as the flame master retreated. 

Brave Clyde stood at the waters edge holding aloft his holy symbol, but the creature merely chuckled and spat profane insults. 

It waded across the water to meet him, whilst Sindri legged it to the south, and the rest of the party set a grappling hook and climbed up to the rose garden. 

Blow was met by blow as brave Clyde tangled with the abomination, but alas, with a violent stroke he was sundered. 

With Clyde dead the creature climbed after the party. They opened a door into the castle. The gawky thief Percy decided to flee no longer! He met the beast at the portal and flashed his blade into the light. Alas, he too was cut down. 

Clyde and Exeo ran into a corridor, known to hold ‘dream beasts.’ As they ran around a corner, they heard the thundering hoofs of the creatures. They lured the four armed Tristano directly in to the oncoming path of two huge dream stallion, one flaming hot with a fiery mane, the other made of pure lightning. The two heroes dashed through a door just in time, and the Malevol was crushed under hoof. 

So the party looted his corpse and made way back to town. 

---

Expedition Fourteen.

Characters 

Exeo – Magic-user 1 – self proclaimed master of flames.

Sindri – Elf 2 – lord of shadow 

Skanda the Slayer – Fighter 1 – a tall brutish woman of barbarian nature. 

Athillda – Magic-user 1 – a tall, slim, and bug eyed crone, fifty years of age (a medieval 50). 

Kusk – torchbearer 

Thodash – man at arms 

---

The party, being unable to hire many henchmen due to their high casualty rates, were only able to hire a couple of wretched underlings. 

The party travelled back to the castle in search of treasure, but unsure which way to go. 

On their journey around the castes periphery they encountered a hunchback named Samuel. He was repairing a window on a long pair of ladders. They talked with him for a brief moment, finding out he was a handy man of sorts for the masters. They left him alone, seeing the blades under his cloak. They did notice however that he began to follow them from the roof. 

Inside the grand entrance hall, after the party had disposed of a few corpses pilled outside the doors, they moved north into a hall lined with paintings. Some of the painting watched them with cruel eyes, and one of them began to fire arrows at them! 

The party was able to duck and weave out of the line of fire. They stood before a large staircase, but opted not to go up, instead going north down a tight corridor. They listened at a door and heard many warriors chanting and singing. 

“We aren’t going in there.” 

Very wise too. 

They went north. In through a set of doors, they saw a strange pool of water dripping upwards. Then through another set of doors they saw a large iron door with a casting of a bat at its centre. The bat had been cast into different pieces, and the party pondered if it might be a lock. Exeo jammed his knife into a gap and suddenly a huge blaring alarm went off. 

They ran back the way they came, but a great clanking of iron slammed behind them. 

They went back, then north, and found a prison lined with cells. Skanda turned around when she heard Exeo mumble something, and saw him going back towards the danger. She lurched after him. 

In the corridor she saw Exeo prostrate himself before a beautiful and pale woman, dressed in fine pink silks and lace. She laughed and commanded, “Kill her my love or we can never be together!” 

The wizard and warrioress began battling, the former trying to stab wildly, the latter trying to overpower him. All while this royal fiend laughed to herself. 

“Get a grip of yourself Exeo! This is magic!” Skanda tried. 

“No, you will never hurt my love!” Exeo replied. This went on for some time. 

In the north the others decided against going into the prison, and instead went further north, opening a door and finding a huge tapestry blocking the way. They crawled under this and found themselves in a huge throne room, Stained glass up high streamed down sunlight 

Back south, Skanda managed to overpower the wizard, but as she did the pale royal figure wrapped her cold hand around the wizards throat. 

“I am bored now.” The fiend said coldly, and Exeo withered to a dusty skeleton. Skanda retreated, with the vile creature trying to touch her all the while. She managed to fend off the attacks, even when the creature took to dancing on the ceiling and lunging down with her pale clawed fingers. 

Finally Skanda reached the tapestry, and with a great cleave managed to split it open pooling sunlight all over the creature. It screamed terribly and erupted with acrid mist or smoke, and fled back into the darkness. 

In the throne room, the party smashed apart the throne itself and found the Sceptre of the Merovings, a sacred relic from antiquity, hidden there. 

Whilst this was occurring their ally the Templar ghost of Médard Malévol the Mighty wandered through the hall. After a brief discussion he guarded them to the entrance and on their way to freedom. He told them some information, of a holy chapel to the north, where a font of holy water may aid them. But, he said, beware the goats. 

At still midnight

Characters

Tim Kaufman – Halfling 3 – A merchant who lost his wagon in an accident.

Ralf Lionsword – Fighter 2 –  a tall, dark and handsome warrior, overboiling with muscles. 

Clyde the Ascetic – Cleric 2 – a waif of a man, an ascetic purist.

Basira Cleric 1 – A dark agent of chaos, initiate to the Demon Lord Woobalu. 

Exeo – Magic-user 1 – An average looking guy, self professed summoner of flame. 

Five secret agents of the crown – retainer fighter 1.

Camille Toutain – retainer fighter 1

Pierre-Marie Moitessier – retainer fighter 1 

---

Much partying was had throughout the town of Tours-en-savoy, for the survivors of Xyntillan had many sacks of coin to spend. There was frolicking, and carousing, and much ado about nothing. The honey-mead flavour of victory had cleansed their palates, sweet, however brief.

The time had come for our troupe of adventurers to once again sally-out to the walls of that ancient source of evil. Armed with a quest from the crown to discover evidence of the Malévol’s tax avoidance, and a personal vendetta of revenge, they marched onward, anticipating victory. But a great shadow crawled across the mountain pass, creeping across them like a veil, for whilst they marched on in ignorance, something lay in wait for them.

The party approached the grand entrance and plunky young Tim Kaufman once again took the lead. He walked up to the great double doors and pushed them inward. Without a pile of corpses at the door he felt confident he was safe. Once again the two gargoyles animated in their way, booming out with laughter. Kaufman turned to his friends and said, “come on lets fill our pockets.” He gave a cheeky wink, but to his friends horror a severed hand fell from the archway above as he walked inward. 

“Tim look out!” 

But it was too late. Another rotting hand dropped onto him, and another, and then, within seconds, a flood of rotting appendages swam down like a torrent engulfing the tweed coated halfling. He barely managed a scream as the swarm of rotting hands grasped around his throat and snuffed out his life. 

“Charge!” Ralf Lionsword boomed, and the party took ground, hacking and slashing the hands apart. A finger salad, tossed severely. After a few moments the party had dispatched the hands. They caught their breath and Clyde said a prayer for Tim Kaufman, unfortunately his companion Sindri was not there to see him off to the netherworld. 

The party made sure to collect Mr. Kaufmans gear, all would be useful in the castle, and especially his bank note; which was written for a large sum of cash stored with the town jeweller. Lo! Onward then. 

The party moved through the high vaulted vestibule to the East, into the Butler’s chambers. Clyde opened the door, and inside he saw a figure reclining in a winged chair, it’s legs crossed and backlit before the smouldering fireplace. 

“Hello? Who might you be?” There was no answer. The party moved in and carefully surrounded the figure. Basira the chaotic dashed forward, grasped the chair and looked down. Sat before him was a pale faced corpse, its mouth open in a silent scream, its curled fingers grasping around its own throat. 

“A message for us?” Clyde postulated. 

Upon the Butler’s writing desk were two piles of paper, arranged in an odd manner and overturned. Clyde approached the piles whilst scratching his chin. The party had stolen many papers from here, last time they’d found a list with their own names on and directions to destroy them. Clyde reached down and flipped the papers over. Snap. The cold iron teeth of a bear trap closed around his wrist. He let out a howl, but before the party could come to his aid, the clunk of gears and chains came from below the table. The trap was attached to a contraption that began pulling Clyde into it. The party quickly tried opening the trap, but it was Ralf who pulled the chain with all his might and shut down the contraption. Soiled with blood, the notes read; got you, got you, got you, over and over. 

“Do we want to go down into the basement?”

“I feel like we haven’t explored any of the rooms to the east.” 

“Now that we’ve cleared out the cellar we have a good change to go deeper.”

As the party discussed their plans the southern door to the cellar opened. A tall figure emerged, with wild red hair. He carried a battle-axe on one shoulder and in his other hand dragged a huge sack which jingled. The party had a brief discussion with this man, unsure whether to capture his loot, which was clearly gold coins. The man said that he was a family member of the castle, but only through marriage. The party asked him where the vampires dwelled and he pointed to the eastern door. They finally decided to let him go unhindered, and agreed with each other to not go east into the castle but down their usual way, into the cellar. 

Down they went. The wine vats were as they left them over a week ago. Through the vaulted doors into the cask room they walked. Then they walked north into the chamber where they fought the faceless horrors. But they didn’t approach in ranks as they had last time, Ralf Lionsword took the lead instead. As they crossed the threshold they came face to face with a man blackened with rot. He wore a suit of green and a feathered cap, but his chest was sundered open into a gaping wound. Around him were a dozen or so hounds. 

“You thought you could kill my kin, steal my wine, desecrate our temples, and also live. No. You shall not live. I will take away the fire that burns in you.” And with that, he whistled and his hounds lurched forward to attack. 

The party formed ranks as best they could, the foaming maws of the dogs came crunching against their shields. Then, a soldier in the rear rank let out a scream. Clyde wheeled and saw stood in the archway behind them a crooked figure wrapped in linen. A terrible mummy bejewelled with a crown and collar glittering with gems. The dreadful thing chuckled, and raised a sceptre of gold and ruby, and like the savage winds of the desert let out a howl. Eldritch light coiled around Clyde, Pierre and Arnauld and each man let out a terrible scream. Overcome with magical fear the men raced to the north in blind panic, through a stone portal and into utter darkness. 

“Retreat!” Lionsword roared. 

“Too bloody right!” The wizard Exeo quipped. 

Several of the tax agents were pinned down by the teeth of the hounds, but the party made their retreat north, down a damp clammy corridor deeper into the castles dungeon. Exeo, in a cunning plan, poured out two containers of oil and dashed his lantern against it, creating a wall of flame behind them that would buy some time. 

By this time Clyde and the two retainers were dashing through darkness, utterly lost and panicked. Their faces were assaulted by a thick mist, then, groping the walls, they turned into a tight chamber, and heard cackling voices in the dark. They ran back the other way, moving as quick as their feet would allow, and fell face first into a pool of water that tasted like metal. They screamed in the dark. 

Back in the light of the party torch our heroes had retreated into a large lake grotto. Bats dangled from the low natural cave ceiling, and the entire room was filled with a fine mist. A lake was before them and on the waters edge a bell stood, and next to that a sign reading “3 coins for passage.” The howl of the hounds was behind them, the fire must have died down. In a panic Basira rang the bell. The chime made all the bats take flight across the lake, and then, in the heart of the mist, a pale green light appeared. 

The hounds were baying behind them. In the water a small skiff approached. The sickly light of its lantern revealed its pilot; a black robed figure carrying a crooked scythe. The hounds howls were closer now. 

The skiff beached itself. The dark figure turned to the heroes, a pure white skeleton was wrapped in the cloak. 

“Three coins for passage to the world of the dead.” It said.

“What are we going to do?” 

“Lets bolt.” 

“You called me here, one of you must take voyage.” The deathly figure retorted. 

The hounds were coming down the passage now, the scrambling of their feet audible on the cold stone floor. 

“Okay!” Basira cried and leapt into the boat. The skeletal hand snatched his three coins. Ralf and a taxman joined him. Exeo did not, and with his torch ran north into the narrow tunnels. The skiff pushed off, as though driven by some unseen force, and as it did the hounds came barrelling onto the lakeside dirt. They leapt and howled after their quarry, but they were too late.

Ralf and Basira looked at each other as the boat traversed the mists, and noticed that their breath, which had been pluming from their mouths, was no longer visible. They looked to the hull of the boat and saw their own corpses tangled amongst the bow seats. They were dead. Ghosts. 

Exeo dashed as fast as his legs would take him, and as he passed a cruciform passage, he saw Clyde on the left lifting himself and two of his retainers out of a pool of bubbling liquid. 

The two reconvened, and noticed that the pool was being fed by a font in the form of an owl. Below it, a plaque read “The Oracle of Saint Blakemore: The waters of future prophecy.” Exeo drank from the waters and felt that he would soon receive a vision. Perhaps next Friday. But that was of little consequence now, they were being hunted by hounds. 

Clyde and Exeo and their two badly shaken men desperately tried to escape, one door led them into a submerged chamber with seven sarcophagus, above that a huge dragons head capstone looked down. The fearful Clyde refused to go in. And so the four of them ran north, into another chamber and another door. Their torches burning down, their fear choking their breath, the howling of hounds echoing down the corridor. 

What will become of them?

——————

Judges note. 

After the parties excellent progress they had finally earned enough ‘infraction points’ to receive a reaction from the family. This is a system in the Xyntillan book of adjudicating reactions from the castles dwellers to PC trouble making. I rolled two encounters, quite nasty ones, and placed them in area which the party have been using most frequently. The players very nearly decided on avoiding the cellar and the ambush, but didn’t go for it in the end. C’est la vie. This session could easily turn out to be a TPK, we had to end the session as we were running over time. We will see what happens to Clyde and Exeo in their play by post.  

Killing Clergy

Characters

Tim Kaufman – Halfling 2 – A merchant who lost his wagon in an accident.

Sindri – Elf 1 – a cloaked and broody lord. 

Ralf Lionsword – Fighter 1 –  a tall, dark and handsome warrior, overboiling with muscles. 

Clyde the Ascetic – Cleric 1 – a waif of a man, an ascetic purist.

Tipuu – Magic-user 1 – scrawny, long haired surfer in robes. 

Smerdya – Halfling 1 – Becloaked in russet, his small black eyes peer out. 

Eight secret agents of the crown – retainer fighter 1. 

---

Many events had taken place during the parties downtime. It had been revealed that their retainer Antoin Longin was in fact an agent for the crown. He is a tax collector, and he’d been using the party to gain ingress into Castle Xyntillan in search of the Malévols revenue books. He was adamant that the Malévol’s were hoarding their tax payment to the crown and he has a special mission to gain evidence of such. He caught the party whilst they were enjoying the fruit of their labours, drinking, merrymaking, and spending coin. He marched into the tavern back room with eight armed men, each a secret soldier of the crown, and declared that they too owed money in taxes, a significant amount. The party could help him attain the ledger he requires from the castle, or he would arrest them for tax avoidance. The party agree, and the eight men were given orders to aid the party. Longin had a vague idea that the ledgers would probably be held somewhere secure and safe, possibly in the dungeons of the castle. He knew no more. The party would be rewarded if they succeeded. 

Also during downtime plucky Tim Kaufman searched out a lawyer, he was looking for some advice on how he might recognise the ledger. He inadvertently bumped into one of the Malévols when he went to the law offices of RH Wirtz Esquire, Sergent-at-law. The Malévol there intimidated him, and told him he would soon need a lawyer himself, and that all of his indiscretions were being recorded. After a little research Tim discovered the name of this mocking figure, Vincent Godefroy-Malévol, ruthless lawyer and famed belletrist. On hearing that the lawyer was a famed writer and critic he sought out some of his books at local book shop the Ink well. He shelled out 200gp for a copy of The Lay of the Were-Wolf. Much reading was done. 

Exhausted and intimidated Tim went on a bender, and found himself in a duel after a misunderstanding with a merchant, a duel that the galling won. 

The party made way out to the Castle with their retinue of chainmail adorned warriors, fairly excited that they could do some serious damage with such bulky numbers. 

After two days they reached the castle and headed into the grand entrance. No corpses were pilled outside this time. They entered the large front door. As they rushed over to the butlers quarters, where they planned to descend into the basement, the ghostly butler emerged from behind a pillar. He told them that they had made quite an impression on the dwellers of the castle, never had he seen Médard Malévol the Mighty so happy, but the masters of the castle had been made aware of their trespasses and would not be happy. He said he would go and fetch the welcoming party, and drifted through a wall. 

Panicked the party rushed into the butlers quarters, it had been tidied up since their last visit, but they found papers in the butters handwriting, a list of their names and physical descriptions, also when Tipuu held the note up to the fire, he saw indentations of some other script. The indentations were a list of orders, dictated most probably, to find and kill the party. 

They went into the basement with haste. 

Down in the wine cellar Sindri went knocked on the northern door. The strange voice of Ambrosias came echoing back. The cleric had been most deranged since his face had been accidentally melted off by green slime.  

“What do you lot want?” He wasn’t the least bit intimidated by their numbers. 

“Here’s some wine.” Clyde handed some over, and the deranged priest chugged it down. Tipuu, who had never been to the castle before, poured some oil into his waterskin and offered it up to Ambrosias. The priest began to drink but spat it out. 

“What is this? You like tricks do you?” 

“No, no, its a special brew that my mum made.” Tipuu returned. 

“I have a drink that you would like.” The priest spat, and grabbed the mage by his beard. Tipuu didn’t resist but looked to his friends for help. They stood and watched, knowing how dangerous the priest could be. 

He dragged Tippu by the beard over to a large cask of wine, with his huge fist he punched out the head of the cask and revealed a fragrant wine with floating dead rats. 

“Llllooks delicious.” Tipuu, said, looking to his friends who stood dumbfounded. 

“Yes, yes it is, in you go.” Said the priest, who hauled the mage up and began shoving him into the barrel. Wine overflowed across the floor, chunks of rat flowing by. Once Tipuu was inside the cask, the priest shoved him down, replaced the head and began nailing the cask closed. 

“We need to do something!” The party, except for the elf and two halflings, all ran into the room and surrounded the priest. Blades crashed against the impenetrable bulk of Ambrosius, and his return blows equally bounced off of Clyde’s armour. Eventually, the giant cleric was slain, Tipuu free’d and the party striped his body, finding a magic potion, rosary and magic armour. 

Next they decided to go north, into the chamber of ‘eldritch horrors’ they had witnessed before. 

“Men, form ranks!” And the soldiers of the crown rushed into the arched chamber and readied their spears. The shambling faceless horrors came rushing into the line, but fell swiftly, and soon the hulking abominations were fleeing. The party quickly slayed a few of them as they lurched through a southern door, eventually they decided to not pursue. 

Inside the chamber were roots with white polyp like fruits dangling down, they had strange tubular appendages like sea cucumbers. In the West there was a large marble statue of a comely beauty suggestively holding her shawl open to reveal a buxom bust. Behind this was a door. 

“Lets make out way North!” So that’s what the party did, they went through a wide corridor, and found several sets of door. Very bravely they had their retainers peer inside, something that would be reported on return to town, and they found a chamber of holding cells, and a chamber littered with bones. The party decided to enter neither. Up ahead the chamber transitioned into a natural cave on one side, and there was a clammy, close feeling to the sticky air. 

The party went into another chamber heading East, and heard the rattling of chains coming from the North-East. To the east however was a large set of double doors, a gargoyle of a fiendish woman as the keystone. Inside the double doors they heard much shuffling and eerie singing. 

Sindri decided to knock on the door, for reasons unclear, and beyond the door a litany of howling screams came echoing out. With hardly any time to react the doors swung open revealing a hoard of vampiric Nuns, their faces white and rotting, with large black teeth and swiping claws. One of the retainers was quickly slain, but the party struck back killing several of the unholy nuns. Clyde the pious held aloft his cross and brought down divine intervention, several of the creature fled shrieking into the dark. The battle intensified, and the creatures slashed and screamed with voices as black as their habits. The party struck hard killing many of them, using the reach of their retainers’ spears to their advantage. Eventually the nuns fled back into shadow. 

Triumphant the party searched the room, it was a large octagonal chamber with a huge pillar at its centre. Dusty footprints circled the pillar. In the north there was a confessional window sealed with metal mesh. Tim Kaufman broke the mesh back and saw a chamber with some treasures. Bishops vestments, bottles of booze, and a large brass bishops crook. He swiped these, except the crook which animated when he tried to grab it. 

“I’ll try and grab it.” Tipuu said bravely. He went to the small hole, reached in, and as he grabbed the brass pole it animated and smashed down on his skull killing him instantly. 

“Dio, why.” 

 When Clyde grabbed the item it didn’t animate and rested sweetly in his palms. 

The party withdrew, back through the wine cellar, and decided on taking several casks of wine with them. 

As they struggled up the stairs with the casks, they heard weeping. There was a ghoulishly white woman in a stained wedding dress stood in the corner crying. Luckily she didn’t seem too bothered by the party. Out they went, and it took them four days to get back to town rolling these huge casks. 

What will they do next?

---

Judges note 

The party mostly levelled up this session, luckily one of the casks they stole was full of health potion. This was sold for a huge amount of coin. Next session will see quite a few level two characters. 

The Motherload

Characters 

Tim Kaufman – Halfling 1 – A merchant who lost his wagon in an accident.

Sindri – Elf 1 – a cloaked and broody lord. 

Ralf Lionsword – Fighter 1 –  a tall, dark and handsome warrior, overboiling with muscles. 

Clyde the Ascetic – Cleric 1 – a waif of a man, an ascetic purist. 

Antoin Longin – Fighter 1 retainer – a pompous and snarling man, with crumbling makeup on his face, a periwig and dark ledger at his hip. 

Julian – footman – a peg leg and eye patch were all this retired seaman claimed from the brine. 

---

“We must go and find the chapel and consecrate it back to Law, the ghost of Médard Malévol demands it!”

“Quite, I hope the reward is most egregious.” 

So the party walked the summer slopes of the mountain, bluebells wafting their fragrance in welcome. The summer in full swing now,  the party made excellent time over the two days of travelling, camping once over night and arriving in the Castles periphery by the afternoon of the next day. 

“No more camping for us, lets go straight through the front door.”

The party marched over the bridge and around the south walls of the castle to arrive at the grand entrance. Only this time there they found a surprise between the two massive gargoyles; a pile of three corpses. Tim Kaufman the plucky launched a stone at them, which smacked a corpse in the face, with no reaction. 

“Stone cold dead.”

The party grew a little closer and recognised the rotting bodies. There was the charred corpse of sweet William the brave, who had died in the lake tower two weeks ago, and face down next to him was a rotting corpse in clerical vestments, presumably Arthur’s body. In front of both was a pair of legs, probably belonging to the thief Gwen, who had been bitten in half by a sea monster. 

“They are dead, its probably a message for us to keep away.”

“I’m not sure about this.”

“I’m keeping well back.” 

Brave Tim the plucky decided to go forward and open the gate whilst his friends hid behind a corner. As he opened the doors the familiar laughing boomed from the gargoyle on his left, and the one on his right animated, turned and snapped its fingers. Only there was a slight difference to the animation this time, the finger emitted a sickly purple light that span out into the corpses on the floor. The bodies began to quiver and moan and William’s charred corpse sat up and lunged at the halfling. 

“Retreat!”

And TIm ran as fast as his tiny legs could carry him back to his comrades as the zombies lurched up, including the pair of legs which frequently fell on its buttocks. Arrows rained into the shambling creatures.  Julian and Ralf Lionsword dashed forward to meet them, blades flashing like lightning. The legs of Gwen delivered a swift kick to the sea-dogs gonads. 

“Haha, I may have only one leg, but I lost my balls to a sea-turtle bite thirty years ago, better luck next time!” 

Clyde the asthetic raised his cross and called down the forces of Law, but his prayers were not met by the grace of heaven. Not yet anyway. But after a few moments the reanimated carcasses of their comrades were dispatched. Antoine grabbed a hold of them and threw them down the slopes towards the moat. 

“Second time lucky.” The party entered the grand entrance doors, and the gargoyles animated again, and then the party could hear the degenerate moans from the corpses down near the moat. Feeling confident that the zombies wouldn’t be able to climb up the slope, the party entered the large entrance hall. The directions they’d received from the templar ghost had pointed to the south west, where they were to reconsecrate a chapel. 

The party entered a large room, in the west there was a doorway and a staircase leading up. Inside the room were two tables, one held surgical tools and blood splattered rags, the other had a soiled boiling pot and tallow candles upon it. Evidently some fiend had been rendering the fat of men to produce perfumed candles; lilac and juniper, delightful. The party swiped all this booty. 

A lantern was lit and Sindri crawled on his belly through the door. He found a T-junction and looked around. He smelt old hay and something foul. He crawled back. The party decided to try the stairs. Sindri checked the walls for a secret door whilst plucky Mr. Kaufman journeyed upstairs on his own. The others stood guard at the doors. 

Upstairs Tim found another door with a crack in it. He heard the scrambling of rats, and smelt something sweet with an undertone of rot. Peering through the crack he saw a dark corridor, and in the shadow a pale face staring back. He ran back to the party, described what he’d seen, and they returned up the stairs together. Clyde and Ralf took the lead. They opened the door and saw a bust in the shadow, looking into the face of a templar, Médard Malévol himself, Clyde felt nearly overwhelmed with a sense of righteous zeal, but steadied himself. He heard the voice in his head of the ancient templar. “Why are you not completing my quest?” 

“We are my lord, we are looking for the chapel.”

“Then go below.”

The party followed the instructions. And went back down the stair, and west through the door into the dank corridor, then about forty feet south they found an arched door, the cross above this door had been defaced. Claude hung a holy symbol there, the first move in his attempt to reconsecrate the area. 

The party walked in and found a large, fine chapel, but it was covered in dust and cobwebs, the rows of pews were dilapidated, the altar had been cracked. The high cross had been sundered and inverted, it now hung upside down from a chain on the wall. Despicable. 

As the party moved towards the altar, they heard chanting from the priests hole to the East of the altar, and many robed individuals marched out before the altar. Their evil forked tongues chanted in a language that only Sindri could understand, the tongue of Chaos. 

They ceased their chant and beaconed to the transgressors. 

“Come, childe, come kneel before the sundered shrine to Law, come and take oaths to the dark ones and hear their sultry whispers. May the worm turn and crush all.” 

The party stood in panic and looked at each other. Sindri walked to the line of wretched monks. Up close he saw that their faces were rotting, skulls exposed, white jellied eyes peered down at him with malice. A clawed hand fell on his shoulder and forced him to one knee before the upturned cross. 

“What offering shall be made to the dark ones childe, loose your lips and spill the secret of your hate, what shall be consumed?”

“The lives of my friends.” The elf whispered to the rotting figure, and its blackened mouth spread into what might be considered a smile. 

As these robbed figures were consecrating the elf, the rest of the party burst into action, taking the moment of distraction to their advantage. Ralf, Anotin and Julian charged into the robed figures that coddled the elf with their cold, razor sharp fingers. Clyde raised his symbol and called down divine intervention. Tim, the ever quick, dashed atop the pews and with pumping legs leapt over the hooded heads of the monks and dashed atop the altar. He grabbed the high cross and tried to pull it from the chain. 

Blades flew and sung. Antoin took a razor sharp claw to the chest, Ralf struck true with his blade. The halfling managed to turn over the cross and held it high overhead. Clyde felt the divine light descend, and his holy symbol reflected the light from the window with a cutting brilliance, bouncing between the high cross and his own. Two of the creatures fled shrieking in pain. The rest  of the foul cretins were engaged in combat with the fighters, and within a few moments were dispatched. 

Guard positions were taken up, Clyde cleaned up what he could, poured holy water over the altar and said a full mass. The cracked altar reknit itself back together, and the high cross refused with its station. The windows glowed brightly and Clyde knew that forces of good had been powerfully evoked. Then, full of zeal, he and Sindri went into the priests hole east of the altar, to hunt down the fleeing monks. 

During that time Tim Kaufman looked at the altar, set into the stone was a fine cross shaped ammonite fossil, very beautiful. He touched it, and was assaulted with visions of a primordial battle between the lord of Law, the true God, and hoards of demons. This sent his mind into a gross state of paranoia and insanity, but he felt divinely inspired and his vigour grew. He would be ever changed by these visions. 

In the next room the party found a decadent boudoir. Silk pillows, raunchy texts, a tapestry of dryads and nymphs engaging in coitus, there was also a foul painting of a sausage fingered dark lord. Behind this painting were many fine health potions. And behind the tapestry they found a secret chamber with casks of fine wine. They rolled up the tapestry and rolled out the barrels. Treasure is treasure. 

In the north they found another room where the creatures hid. They dispatched them quickly, and found another silver cross hanging upside down, Tim touched this, attempting to turn it upright, but it turned instantly black. The cross crumbled into a soot like dust, and he was lanced with terrible pain as black veins crawled up his arm towards his heart. He collapsed and was aided by Clyde back to the chapel. Clyde was overcome with a sense of holiness, and heard in his head the voice of the ancient Templar, “receive your reward at my bust.”

The party rolled their treasure to the front door, making a quick stop off upstairs, where the bust had vanished, and in its place a large templars shield. A kite shield with a white cross on a black field. This was swept up in the goodly hands of Clyde; DUES VULT! 

The barrels were rolled, tapestries were carried, bottles were pilfered, and over a long four day trek back to Tours en Savoy the party had returned with their biggest pile of loot yet. 

---

Judges note 

This session marks the halfway point of the campaign, amazingly there were no PC deaths this time, and after taking such a large haul back to town we had the first level up of the campaign. Tim Kaufman is now level two, congratulations. The party now have a couple of magic items in their possession and an ally within the castle. I’m excited to see what they do next, well done gang!  

Four Corpses on Mauve Velvet

Characters 

Arthur – Cleric 1 – A weak armed bible basher. 

Donna – Cleric 1 – A strong faced woman of the cloth. 

Gwen – Thief 1 – A lithe assassin in the making. 

William – Fighter 1 – A confident middle-aged warrior, scruffy and brave. 

Baptiste – Light footman – working for Gwen. 

Later 

Tim Kaufman – Halfling 1 – A merchant who lost his wagon in an accident. 

Sindri – Elf 1 – a cloaked and broody lord. 

---

“We have to find another entrance into that place, the cleric in the basement hates my guts, and the ghostly butler is mad we took his papers, the grand entrance is suicide!” 

“Let’s use that gondola we found in the satyr pavilion.”

“What about the giant dinosaur looking monster in the lake?”

“This bell we found should take care of it.” 

So it was decided. The party marched up the valley, and what a lovely march it was too, the summer being finally upon them. A gentle breeze up the mountain pushed them along. The daylight had increased, and that meant after two days of marching they arrived earlier than usual, and sunset would be a long way off. 

Rather than camping in the vicinity of the castle, which had been growing more and more dangerous, the party headed straight for the pavilion. The rope they attached last time was hanging loose in the river. Resourceful thief Gwen hooked it and reattached it. They were over the deep waters in no time. 

William began to sing to the statue as had been done before, the rest of the party keeping watch nervously. The statue animated, piped its song and then its plinth clacked open revealing a black lacquered gondola adorned with a female figurehead, fangs protruding from her mouth. 

The party donned the captured robes and masks, then dragged the boat to the shore below the looming castle, boarded, and shoved off.

“This is much faster than walking!” And so it was, especially with the burly William and Baptiste as oarsmen. 

The party noticed on the eastern walls of Xyntillan, high atop jagged cliffs, two large towers. Between these towers, around eighty foot off the waters face, was a gargoyle railed balcony. No windows appeared on this side of the castle – ominous. 

“Towards that lake tower!” 

They rowed towards a massive lake tower connected to the castle via an arched bridge. They circled this and took a quick look at the southern side of the castle, the part that faced the lake. They saw a garden above a water rampart. Interesting, but they were more interested in the lake tower. 

Running down from the lake towers bridge and into the water was a huge chain. This looked very interesting. The party examined it, and at the chains end, down in the waters, was a box or crate was attached. The party attached the boat to the pillar of the bridge after some faffing around with arrows, then, one by one, they climbed the chain onto the bridge.

Atop the bridge the chain was attached to some sort of winch, perhaps an old repurposed catapult. The lake tower had a huge bronze door decorated with three equal armed cross. 

Before they had a chance to play with the winch a roar echoed from the lake, and a thrashing in the water revealed a long reptilian neck snaking up and squinting at them. 

“Thar she blows! Nessie is upon us!” 

The creature began swimming towards the bridge, spittle flying from its cerated mouth, its devilish black eyes full of hunger. 

The party charged through the door into the lake tower, all except Gwen who hid next to the winch and began ringing the hand bell. The creature began to slow to identify where the ringing was coming from. 

The tower door flew inward and the party saw a high vaulted temple, four wide columns led to a high altar of black stone. Atop this was a bronze statue of a goat headed man, his naked torso had the breasts of a woman, his legs were crossed. It’s right hand pointed up in benediction, but the left was downward, holding a crescent moon shaped weapon. The walls of this temple were painted with frescoes of goat riding templars jousting and engaging in unspeakable evils. 

A ghost up in the rafters called out to them “Dark ones, see what you have done to the temple of the templars.” His anger was plain. He floated towards them. 

Outside, Gwen still rang the bell, but nessie swam under the bridge, then, in a moment of horror its head reared up behind the thief. 

“Clever girl” was all the would be assassin could say before the large maw chomped her in half. 

Inside the temple Donna threw off her cultists disguise, “We are not evil sire, we come in the name of law.” The others joined her in this. Soon the ancient templar calmed and began to weep at the state of his families evil legacy. 

“We did not go on crusade to fall to same evils that we sought to destroy!” 

He gave the party a quest, to find a chapel in the South of the castle, on the ground floor, and to reconsecrate it. The party happily accepted. Arthur was told that a special cape lay in a room to the north. 

“Now, lets take a closer look at that weapon in the statues hand.” 

William approached it with a cloak in hand. He moved close and grasped the strange crescent shaped discus. But as he did, the green eyes of the statue glimmered, and its nose shot out a clump of green slime. William screamed out, but was not quick enough to avoid the goo. It squirted onto his chest and began dissolving his armour. 

“Help help!” The brave warrior cried. He began to run to the door, maybe jumping into the water would help, but he was stopped by the ghostly templar who told him fire was the cure, then he vanished. 

Donna pulled out her lantern oil and dowsed her writhing friend, then lit it up. Unfortunately William was consumed by the sizzling ooze, and then by the flames. RIP. 

The party took a quick breather, taking in all this chaos. 

Arthur explored to the north, finding a cloak room, and inside a very fine templar cloak that was double sided. He put this on. The others found another room and swiped some very big ecclesiastical candle sticks. 

Two adventurers burst through the door just then, Halfling Tim Kaufman and Sindri the elf. They’d just escaped some zombies. The party made their acquaintance and soon accepted them into their ranks. It was time to go up to the second level. 

Up the stone stairs the party was met with a long corridor lined with statues of the saints. They moved cautiously, and in the face of Saint Cyprian they saw two fine rubies set as eyes. Mr. Kaufman delicately popped these out, he’ll surely make for a fine burglar. 

As they proceeded down the corridor, they heard the tapping of footsteps behind them. Sindri and Baptiste twirled around, and were toe to toe with a masked killer. Dressed in black this swarthy madman plunged his dagger into Baptiste’s breast, killing him instantly. Sindri fell back, and the two clerics Donna and Arthur charged the dark assassin. But alas, they were no match, and with a shimmering swipe and a razor sharp slash the two clerics were dead. They’d managed to wound the attacker however, who then moved towards Mr. Kaufman and Sindri, wiping clean the dagger with his black gloved hand. Crash, slash, the fight was over in a matter of seconds, Sindri had taken the huge ecclesiastical candle stick and caved the killers head in. 

“Time to leave I think.” 

In a mad rush that’s what the two survivors did, down into the temple, and out onto the bridge, they quickly climbed down the chain, boarded the boat they’d been told about and rowed off. 

Just then, a roar cam from the bastion of the castle. A huge hairy creature with horns like a demon peered down at them with contempt, its long cape flowing like a river of mauve along the parapets. Go, go, go, they rowed as quickly as their arms allowed. 

“Intruders!” The creature roared, and like a lion it raced along the embrasures of the castle and leapt down onto the bridge with a crash. The party just caught glimpse of the beastly thing, standing nearly eight foot tall, a hideous yellow eyed face above a full cravat. It ripped up a gargoyle as though it were a loaf of bread, and dashed this into the lake. 

“Phew!” The two survivors rowed down the river, and made it back to town in record time. 

What will they do next? 

Turn the other cheek

Characters

Arthur – Cleric 1 – A weak armed bible basher. 

Pickles – Halfling 1  – this loud mouthed drinker enjoys paying humans to carry him ‘Yoda-style.’ 

Clyde the ascetic – Cleric 1 – a waif of a man, an ascetic purist. 

Gwen – Thief 1 – Mirella’s sister, a lithe assassin in the making. 

Alcine – Light footman 

Terri – Light footman 

Donna – Cleric 1 – A strong faced woman of the cloth. 

---

After a very busy week of downtime, including Gwen’s invasion of the wizard Zaa’s town house, and his assassination, the party advanced out to Castle Xyntillan in search of treasure. 

They decided to make camp in an alternate stretch of woodland on this journey. Their reasoning was that they’ve not changed their approach to the castle for many weeks. Zaa’s men had surveyed them, and possibly their enemies in Xyntillan might have discovered their plans as well. 

During the night’s second watch, at around one in the morning, Gwen and Alcine witnessed a gaggle of figures march towards the castle. The lithe thief moved closer for a better look. A tall, broody, dark-haired elf led a party of armoured men. She had heard of this group, a rival adventuring party that called themselves the league of silver. Gwen slunk back to the camp site. 

Hours later, during Pickles watch, he saw the party come back out of the castle carrying a heavy chest. Lucky buggers. 

“They seemed to do well, and at night too!”

At dawn the party travelled towards the castle, crossing the moat and going up to the windows that they had broken into many moons ago. 

A grappling hook was loosed. Crash, one of the windows went in. The rope was pulled tight, finding purchase. All was quiet as the party waited for a volunteer to climb up. 

“Not me.”

“I don’t want to go.” 

“We’ll make Terri go.” Came the brave suggestion from Gwen. 

“I certainly won’t.” The broad shouldered soldier said, “What if something lops me head off?” 

The party put a few coins together and bribed the simpleton to climb up, for he desperately needed money to woo a local maiden named Hildegarde Bonner. 

The man quickly scaled the rope, and climbed into the window, but soon there came a scream and a flapping of arms, and after a few seconds Terri rushed back down the rope. 

“A great big knight was stood right next to the window, he tried to lop me head off, what did I tell you! I nearly met me maker there!” 

After pondering whether to try another window, the party decided on going back down into the castles wine cellar. Down in the dark they had found a hollow barrel containing a ladder down into an unknown chamber. They marched onward, and the rope was swiftly pulled up by an unseen hand. 

They opened the large double doors of the grand entrance, and as before the gargoyles animated, laughing and clicking its finger. The party quickly went into the head butlers room, they searched around a little, and paid Terri to feel through an old musty butler uniform; he found a fine sovereign ring. 

Before going down into the wine cellar, the party decided to try and find a way into the secret door in the fireplace they’d discovered earlier. Up in the chimney there was the dried husk of a gentleman, his face stretched in a silent scream. They shot at this with an arrow, and it crumbled into charcoal. 

The Cleric Clyde probed the eagle cornices of the mantlepiece, and ‘lo and behold, the uniform square brickwork of the fireplace clicked and swung inward. Though who would go enter the smoky chamber? 

“Lets pay Terri to go in.” Such bravery. And with a few coins Terri went on into the gap. He reported back that he’d found the carcases of unknown beasts hanging on meat hooks. The party, disturbed by this finding, encouraged him deeper into the chamber. In he went, never to return. 

“Lets stick this chair in the doorway so it doesn’t close, maybe he will come back.” He didn’t. 

The party went down into the cellar. In a moment of madness a party member knocked on the arched door which led into the wine cellar.  

“Come iiiiin.” A sickly sweet voice called back from beyond the door. Pickles recognised the voice as that of Ambrosias the monk, whom he had met once before. Whoops, their cover was blown.  

The party went in and greeted the monk. 

“Is that Pickles, ah, my little lord, I’m so glad to see you’ve returned.” The portly friar was sat atop a cask, and turned dramatically. In the flickering lamplight the party saw his face, angry and swollen, one half of it melted almost to the bone. 

“Have you come to finish the job my little lord?” The bitter monk mocked. “Have you come to take the rest of my face!” Pickles realised immediately what must have happened. Last time he was down here, the party had got the monk so drunk he’d passed out, moments later they had inadvertently released an ooze creature from one of the casks. That ooze must have eaten the monks face! 

He peered at the party with his one good eye. “Come close my lad, won’t you come and make a toast with me? To health?” Pickles approached him, the party’s protestations echoing out behind him. 

“That’s right lad, all can be made right.” The monk took ahold of him, like a dog with a rag doll, and pushed his curly haired head down to the casks tap, the very cask containing the slime! “An eye for an eye! Now, let us turn the other cheek!” 

The party rushed to their small friends aid as the monk began to turn the tap. Arthur and Clyde launched onto the portly giant, pulling him down to the ground as Gwen loosed an arrow into his bulky gut. Within a few moments the half faced giant tossed them aside and had the halfling in his grasps once again, and pushed him down below the dreaded tap! 

Clyde took off his rucksack and stuffed it over Pickles face, hoping this would shield his face from the ooze about to be released. Arthur swung his mace into the dark friar, colliding with what must have been plate armour under his robes. 

Pickles, in desperation, grabbed his dagger and stabbed up into Ambrosias’ groin, blood splashing onto his wrist. The monk grimaced and cried out, grabbed his mace from his belt and without a moments hesitation smote the halfling with a few solid blows. Little was left of Pickles body, naught but a smear. 

“Now then my friends, with that nasty matter out of the way, lets introduce ourselves, I don’t believe I’ve met any of you?” The deranged holy man asked. 

Very tempestuously the party began speaking with the man, and very gingerly took up his offer of a toast. After some time the mad man became fatigued and departed for his abode. The party quickly filled their wineskins with some of the delicious brews he’d allowed them to taste. 

After a little ransacking, a new voice called out. A cleric named Donna had advanced down into the dungeon and introduced herself to the party. Onwards to glory! 

They opened the false cask and one by one climbed down. The chamber below had the faint smell of pine needles and mulch. A long set of stained stairs led deep, deep into the earth. The flagstone soon gave way to a natural cave system lined with many ancient and crude gargoyles depicting satyrs. The smell of forest became very overwhelming, and after descending the steep incline for what seemed like an age, the party came into a mossy natural cave. 

Empty wine bottles lay strewn about, chicken bones and other waste material as well. Then, a strange horned head poked out from the caves mouth. A gangly satyr introduced himself. He wore a small brown robe, and his hirsute face framed cunning, hungry eyes. He introduced himself as the keeper of the grotto, for his name would not be pronounceable to humans. The party talked at length with the strange being, offering him up almost all of their wineskins which he furiously downed with insatiable thirst.

Once he was placated with wine, the devilish creature told them that he was enemies with a fiendish cult in the woods. Woods? The outside of the cave itself was most strange, a vast woodland below a pink hued sky, lit by a single purple star. The creature then started sniffing the party, convinced that he could smell the evil of the cultists on one of them; Gwen. Arthur convinced the satyr that her smell was only from exposure to the evils upstairs. 

That was when the parties new friend wanted to blow his pipes and pipe a ditty, but worried by the consequences this might bring Arthur opted to sing him one of his lovely hymns instead. Soon the creature was off to sleep. 

With the beast snoring Gwen took it upon herself to try and steal its strange pipe, which one moment looked like a steel flute, then like a wooden set of pan pipes. As she touched it a ravaging cold wracked her body and she fell to the ground in pain. 

As the flute fell to the ground it became a piece of wood and began rapidly growing roots. The party scooped this up into a bag and fled back up the stairs into the cellar, where they refilled their skins and made off with their treasures. 

Later on the flute had grown to a small sickly olive tree with eight red fruits. In town they had these identified, and were told they might have health benefits. 

What will they do next? 

A Book Deal

Characters

Mirella the witch – MU 1 – Magic user 1 – A curious seeker of knowledge, with a niggling worry about getting burned at the stake. 

William – Fighter 1 – A confident middle-aged warrior, scruffy and brave. 

Ferdinand Scheller – Fighter 1 – another Halberdier, equally tall, and equally well built. 

Karl – Archer – An Ostlander and comrade of Ferdinand. 

Ugine – Heavy footman – follower of Mirella. 

Baistaine – Light footman – follower of William. 

Arthur – Cleric 1 – a weak armed bible beater. 

---

The party marched out to Xyntillan keen to return to it’s basement and the wine casks they found there. 

Arriving in the early evening, they decided to make their camp in the outskirts of the castle, in the woodland.  William took the first watch. Ferdinand and his buddy Karl the second. But when it came to Pickles the halflings turn he saw some torchlight approaching the camp. 

He quickly woke his friends, who made their way north, deeper into the woods. Pickles remained behind, using his smallness to his advantage, hiding in a bush. Four armed men and a dwarf were led into the camp by turban a wearing mage magus. They were speaking in a language Pickles couldn’t understand, but the hiding Mirella nearby recognised the mage as Vusorin Zaa, someone who had been looking to steal her spell book. 

Brave William took his steed Sunshine to the west out of the wood, a cunning plan was forming. 

Zaa’s men scoured the camp, looking for footprints or evidence. Then, from the South came a clambering racket and shouts of “Quickly, lets get away!” 

It was William, and he was trying to lead the evil party away. Zaa took the bait, he and his men marched south with their weapons drawn. William led them on a merry chase, quickly outrunning them through the dark and into another woodland. Whilst charging his steed through the woods he saw in the distance a wide open fire and men figures around it. Possibly bandits, he considered. 

Whilst this was happening the rest of the party moved east out of the wood and tried to circle around, hoping to flank Zaa and his troupe. But after thirty minutes of movement, they couldn’t not find him. 

William, darted into another piece of woodland, hoping to make it back to his friends without encountering any nastiness. He happened upon Zaa’s men hiding, but with a quick lash of Sunshines reigns was away. 

After this midnight runaround the castle the party made another camp and waited for dawn. 

The rosey sun emerged and they marched to the Grand entrance. They recognised the two gargoyle statues, and anticipated the animation of them when they opened the doors. The gargoyle on the right laughed mockingly, the left statue animated and clicked its fingers. 

They opened the doors, praying not to find the ghostly butler they happened upon last time. It seemed that they were in luck, so they moved to the eastern door, where last time they found the cellar door. 

Ferdinand bravely opened the door. But was surprised when a cackling laugh in the room erupted, and a green vaporous hand came through the door itself and tried to grab him. 

“Flee!” 

As the party marched backward defensively to the door, a melee erupted. The ghost butler raved madly about his precious papers, a list of enemies, that had been stolen. Indeed, the party had destroyed these inadvertently on their last expedition. 

Arrows were loosed, holy water was thrown, but alas, not a single blow struck true. As Ferdinand was touched by the ghost and drained of all youth, his withered husk fell to the stone floor with a puff of dust. Karl was next to feel the cold touch of death, then the retainer Ugine. Lo’ death, thou art tyrannous. The rest of the group ran as fast as their legs could take them. 

“Well that wasn’t a very profitable.” 

As they took a quick breather a merry cleric named Arthur arrived, on the look out for high adventure. 

“Good thing you’ve arrived, our numbers were recently thinned.” 

With no thief in the party, and no grappling hook, the party desperately wanted to get up to the second floor window, where long ago they collected tapestries. They tried to fashion a grappling hook from a rope and crowbar. They tossed this up, failing miserably, it even bounced from the stone and tumbled onto their heads. One toss struck the glass, but found no purchase on the window frame. 

“Lets go over to that gazebo.” They were referring to a large outbuilding they’d only seen from afar. They moved towards it. But, who would come marching out of the trees, only that dreadful wizard Zaa and his goons. 

“Shall we fight?” 

“We should run.”

“They outnumber us, a fight would be death.”

“I’ll go. It is my spell book they want.” Brave Mirella said, and off she marched over to the evil party. After a bit of banter back and forth, she decided to hand over her spell book into the groping fingers of Vusorin Zaa. 

“We’ll get him back some day.” Mirella’s friends comforted her. 

William swam his horse across the wide river, toeing a rope and fixing this to a tree. The rest of the party swam along this line and they had crossed the river towards the strange stone gazebo. 

As they walked towards it, they witness a long necked creature rise up from the bleak waters of the lake. It swam towards them, its needle toothed maw slavering with hunger. The party fled inland, towards the structure and into safety. 

The structure was a six columned open aired gazebo, each pillar was carved into a shape. A saracen, a templar, a monk, a belly dancer, a djinn and a satyr. In the centre of the pavilion there was a bronze statue of a piping goat headed satyr, women swooning at its feet, oxidised green with age. It stood on a large plinth. The party toyed with the structure for some time before deciding to sing to it, this caused the statue to animate and pipe a strange musing. The plinth popped open and inside was a large gilded gondola and a chest. In the container were six emerald robes, simple goat shaped masks, and a clerical hand bell. 

“Take it all and lets get out of here.”

And so they did. What will they do next. 

A Drinking Problem 

Characters

Mirella the Witch – Magic user 1 – A curious seeker of knowledge, with a niggling worry about getting burned at the stake. 

William – Fighter 1  – A confident middle-aged warrior, scruffy and brave.

Pickles – Halfling 1  – this loud mouthed drinker enjoys paying humans to carry him ‘Yoda-style.’ 

Ellish – Fighter 1 – A peasant girl who made a drunken bet that she could survive the horrors of Xyntillan. 

Blavier the Bear – Fighter 1 Retainer – Imposing knight on barded warhorse. 

Theo, Ramon & ol’ feller – two dirty orphan porters and a pack mule. 

---

Our heroes set off up the trail, as has become their custom, chewing down rations and telling tall tales. On their second days march they discovered the suit of armour of the Black Knight they had slain over a week prior. It was sat in a slumped position on the side of the road, not where it had been felled. The void inside the black harness was choked with vines, which came spewing out of the face guard, neck, elbows and anywhere else there was a gap. 

“Lets skirt around it.” 

They went into the tree line keeping at least twenty feet back at all times. A crow descended onto the helm, cawed at them ominously and began circling overhead. 

“I’m going to check it out.” Pickles exclaimed. Having not experienced the terror of the black knight for himself, he was keen to see if there was any loot to be found. From the scree strewn brambles he grew close, tossing a few stones towards the figure. No movement. Nothing. So off Pickles went, closing in on the slumped suit of armour so full of greenery, and searched. 

No pouches, no bags, no treasure. But deep in the vine clotted helm, he saw something. An impossibly small face, ancient and withered, it’s eyes closed in what might have been pain, or perhaps pleasure. The eyes, if they were eyes, languidly batted open. Within those portals there were no pupils, no life, only a green vapour, infinite and vast.  

Watching from the brush, the party saw Pickles scream, leap to his feet and begin charging down the mountain pass in flight. The party called after him, to no avail. 

“Let us set off to the castle.” And that was what they did. Only after a few hours did they think to send someone after the plucky halfling. Night was soon approaching. William asked Théo to ride the mule down the pass and retrieve him. This he did. The party camped on the road, a little while later the orphan rode back, his face puckered and mired by a huge black eye. He’d tried to wrestle the halfling to the ground and had received a smack to the face for his effort. 

Later in the night Pickles finally returned to camp, apologising profusely to Théo. He had been overcome with fear, and in his temporary madness had believed the young man to be the dark knight on its dreadful steed. 

At first light the party set off into the grounds of the castle proper, arriving by around ten o’clock in the morning. They quickly agreed to attempt to enter the grand entrance. A huge set of double doors straddled by two huge gargoyles. 

On approach they were met with a line of twelve skeletons slowly marching around the periphery of the keep. Without being seen the party dashed into the shrub. All except Blavier the Bear, he wouldn’t leave his beloved charger behind. So instead Blavier rode towards the skeletons, attracting their attention and then riding off over the bridge away from the castle. The skeletons took the bait and chased him. 

Now with a clear view to the grand entrance, the party marched on. 

Paranoid of the two gargoyles, which stood around eight foot tall, the party hammered some pitons into the steep slope that ran down to the moat and tied a rope to them. A quick escape route, just incase. Then William and Pickles approached the doors. The fighter swung them inwards, a booming laugh came from the mouth of the western Gargoyle. The one in the east animated, turned to face the two men, and snapped it fingers. As soon as this was done the statues returned to their original positions, becoming still. 

“What the hell was that?”

“Dunno, but lets get in there before those skeletons return.” In-fact they could see Blavier doing a good job of keeping the skeletons occupied out on the bridge. 

Inside the doorway, there was a cavernous entrance vestibule lined with columns and doors, but laying in a state of complete ruin. A strange hollow voice was crying inside. The party had gathered a rumour long ago of a wine cellar with expensive casks. This was apparently on the right and down some stairs. 

“Lets get the wine.”

As they entered a translucent figure strode from beyond the columns. It was a shade of green, then grey, solid one moment, transparent the next. Its face was a skull, then a putrified face, then a noble face with roman features. It wore a butlers suit, when it had legs. 

It welcomed them to the Castle and lamented the terrible state of the entrance hall. It asked whether they were here for the feast. The party said that they were. 

“Please tell me your names so I might add you to the guest book.” The party began telling the ghostly butler their real names, all except Pickles, who cunningly use the moniker Count Raoul Balderdash. Once the butler received the information that he was in the presence of nobility his demeanour became very welcoming, if slightly insane. He offered to take their cloaks, which they gave over. He slid off through the wall after telling them to go up the grand staircase. 

The party quickly charged east instead, finding a large sitting room. There was a huge gothic grandfather clock inlaid with gold and ivory. A great piece, but the clock moved backwards. Very strange. The party decided they would come back for this as it had to be worth a lot. 

There was a writing desk full of mad ramblings, the illiterate Ellish riffled through them, pocketing some of them without being able to read them. Mirella found the stairs to the cellar through a southern doorway. Inside a cabinet they found a chest. And up inside the fireplace there was a charred corpse staring down at them with a blank expression. 

They went down into the cellar. 

They were met with huge vats and pressing equipment. They heard drunken singing coming from the next chamber. Opening the door they heard a voice call out. 

“Naughty little buggers, come down to steal a tipple have you?” A portly friar emerged carrying a lantern. He seemed quite intoxicated. After a brief discussion they discovered he kept the cellars for the family of the castle, his name was Ambrosius Baptiste Malévol. He proudly showed them his cellar filled with huge casks. 

The party planned to get the monk so drunk he would pass out, and with a little convincing they joined him in a couple of toasts and managed to succeed. The fat friar slumped down to the ground with a mewling snore. 

“Lets find a good vintage and make off with it.” 

The party taste tested a few casks, deciding on two in particular to steal. Ellish didn’t taste the wine, but filled up her wine skin from one of the casks. It undulated strangely and quivered. She thought that perhaps it must be a very good vintage. 

“Lets find some wine bottles and decant the wine, it would be easier to transport over these large casks.”

As the party moved north to look for receptacles, Ellish let out a harrowing scream. Her wineskin had sizzled open and from within a greasy green ooze had leapt onto her leg. It immediately began to dissolve her flesh. She pulled off her trousers, but it was too late, the ooze had began to eat into her. The pain was excruciating. In a panic the party tried to cut  the slime, splashed it with wine and holy water. Nothing worked. 

“Give me that torch!” 

The slime reacted to the flame, but it also burnt Ellish. Pickles ran into the northern chamber, looking for something to help, but was met with a grotesque scene. Strange limpet like roots dangled from the ceiling, and below them were degenerate faceless horrors sleeping or basking in their own filth. Pickles fled. 

“Give me that weapon, get it off of me!” Ellish screamed, grabbing her weapon and plowing it into the slime and also directly into her own leg. Within a few moments she had bled out and died. The slime sizzled and melted its way inside of her. 

“Grab the wine, lets get out.” 

William lugged two fancy barrels onto Mirella’s summoned floating disc. Mirella decided to also drag Ellish’s corpse onto the disc, wanting to give her a good burial. Ambrosius was looted, they found a nice bottle of champagne. 

Then they were out the door towards the stairs. But that was not the end of their horror, for Ellish’s corpse began to vibrate, then began to transmute and sizzle, within seconds it dissolved into a huge pool of green slime. The slime lunged at Mirella, but she managed to avoid the strike by a few inches. The witch began to flee, but of course her floating disc carrying the slime followed closely behind her. It struck again, and by a hairs length she avoided the slime. The rest of the party ran, and with the wave of her hand Mirella banished the disc and made away. As the disc disappeared, the slime and casks fell to the ground, one of them cracking open and loosing its delicious contents. 

“The clock!” The party made way back up to the sitting room, and turning the the writing desk upside down used it as an improvised slay, placing the clock onto it. They pushed this out to the main doors where Blavier was waiting with his steed. They lashed with table to the horses saddle and pushed it back to their camp. 

They careful made their way back to town with the mules and horse helping drag the table-slay and got paid a handsome sum for the grandfather clock. They also learned that they were lucky not too have opened it, for it was a magically cursed artefact. 

What will they do next?